


K-O

by hibiscus_tea



Series: love drunk [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (its weed tho), Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Frat Boy Shiro (Voltron), Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Oral Sex, Top Keith (Voltron), light pet play, power bottom Shiro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 21:41:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14294025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hibiscus_tea/pseuds/hibiscus_tea
Summary: They hook up at a Halloween party.





	K-O

**Author's Note:**

> whoops

“What… what was your name again?” Shiro asks.

 

There’s the speculative raise of a brow, a pause of fine-boned fingers working open his flies.

 

“Keith,” says the man between his knees.

 

“Keith,” Shiro repeats, “Keith.”

 

He wants to remember that.

 

“I’m Shiro,” he says, because he doesn’t want Keith to forget him, either.

 

The eyebrow somehow climbs higher, the zip of his jeans is eased open.

 

“I know who you are,” Keith says. “Everyone knows who you are.”

 

Shiro likes his voice. Textured, smooth. Kind of rough and boyish.

 

He puts his hand in Keith’s hair because it looks soft, careful not to disturb the headband. Big, velvety kitten ears in a mess of inky black waves.

 

When Shiro doesn’t say anything, Keith snorts. Fingers curl in Shiro’s waistband, tug at his jeans and underwear until they’re around his ankles.

 

His cock is already hard from having Keith in his lap, kissing hard and sweet. From the weight of his body and the harsh little gasps he’d made when Shiro had found the tight ovals of his nipples, the way he’d dug his fingers into Shiro’s skin.

 

“You’re just…” Shiro tries to articulate with a wave of his hand.

 

It’s the bare curve of Keith’s shoulders, the threadbare black muscle tee open at his sides. The smile over the rim of his plastic cup as they’d talked over the music downstairs. Everything down to the way he moves, the way he speaks.

 

And those _ears_.

 

“Hm,” Keith hums, like he knows, or doesn’t care. His hands are smoothing up and down Shiro’s thighs.

 

Faint strains of _Monster Mash_ are just discernible, and Shiro can still taste Matt’s pumpkin punch concoction uncomfortably sweet on his tongue. But Keith, heedless, shuffles up on his knees and noses delicately up the underside of his cock.

 

Like a _nuzzle_.

 

Shiro lets out a hot breath, fisting his hand in the sheets He carefully cradles the back of Keith’s head as an open-mouthed kiss lands at the base of his shaft, as a flat tongue drags up the length.

 

Fingers tease at his foreskin, a tongue dips under to tease.

 

He’s gone watching those messy brows furrow in concentration, breathless as Keith’s mouth opens, swallows him down to the root.

 

“Oh,” Shiro sighs, tucking back a loose lock of hair, sinking his fingers into longer strands at the nape of Keith’s neck. “Fuck, baby. That’s amazing.”

 

Keith glances up, eyes shining a little with the press at the close of his throat, dipping his head lower with a muffled noise until his throat spasms a little.

 

He pulls off with a wet mouth and shining eyes, wrapping his hand around the shaft to work it with quick-rough pulls, loud and messy where it’s wet around the head from his throat.

 

“Fuck,” Shiro sighs, “fuck.”

 

“You’re loud,” Keith says, and there’s already a little more of a scratch to his voice.

 

It takes him back a bit, but the tone isn’t accusatory. Shiro fumbles.

 

“Ah… sorry,” he says, almost goes cross eyed when Keith thumbs almost too harsh over his slit and licks a messy line between fingers and palm, drips spit on the head. And then all Shiro can think about is his mouth.

 

“No, you’re good,” Keith says,

 

Shiro nods helplessly. Tries not to tug too hard at Keith’s hair when that mouth is on him again, hollowed cheeks, lashes swooping low.

 

“Fuck,” Shiro swears again. He smooths his hand down the line of Keith’s neck, dips his fingers under the loose collar of Keith’s shirt. He’s all warm skin and smooth muscle. Unexpectedly stunning down to the tiny freckle on his left shoulder blade.

 

A moan hums through him, the pattern of it confusing until Shiro realises that it’s coming from Keith. A rough little purr between Shiro’s legs with a cock stuffed down his throat. He pulls back breathing harder, spit shining on bottom lip, his chin.

 

“God,” Shiro says. “Are you in a frat, or…”

 

Keith shoots him a look as his hand works over Shiro’s cock. There’s something about those fine-boned hands working over the full thickness of his cock that shorts out Shiro’s brain a little.

 

“Uh. No,” Keith says. He cups Shiro’s balls, rests his arm on one of Shiro’s thighs.

 

“Oh,” Shiro tries, “but, _ah_ \- you live on campus, then?”

 

Keith peers up at him from where he’s working a deft thumb over the too-sensitive head of Shiro’s cock.

 

“What you wanna, like. Have a whole conversation?” Keith asks him.

 

Shiro stares at him, the wrinkle of his nose. The suspect tilt of his head.

 

“No,” he says. Shakes his head. Repeats it. “No, just… getting to know you.”

 

Keith squints at him for a moment, and then his mouth tilts up like a smirk.

 

“I can’t tell you my life story _and_ suck your dick,” Keith tells him, and then runs the flushed head of Shiro’s cock over the flat of his tongue. Looks up at him with a faint kind of challenge in his eyes when he closes full lips around it and _sucks_.

 

“Yeah,” Shiro says faintly. “No… yeah.”

 

Keith’s tongue works wet and easy under the head of his cock, hands stroke up and down his thighs. A press at his left lifts him up out of the way, and Keith’s fingers sneak down to press spit-wet at his perineum.

 

“There’s lube,” Shiro tells him, over the heartbeat-thud of his pulse.

 

For a moment he thinks he’s assumed too far, but then Keith grins up at him.

 

“Yeah?” Keith says, and his voice is rough and smile-soft.

 

“Are you gonna get it?” Keith asks him, when he doesn’t move.

 

“Oh,” Shiro stumbles, “yeah.”

 

He strips his shirt off while he’s at it. Reaches over and yanks at the lowest desk drawer and rattles around in there for the lube with the weight of Keith’s appreciative gaze on him. He grabs a string of condoms, too. Tosses that onto the sheets just in case.

 

“Here,” Shiro tell him, drops the lube in Keith’s hands.

 

Keith peers at the label. Sitting there in his jeans and muscle tee and socks, with his kitten ears on.

 

“Passion fruit,” Keith says, and his gaze lifts to Shiro’s with a little quirk of his mouth. “Nice.”

 

 _Nice_ , Shiro thinks. Too buoyed by that one quick syllable.

 

Keith uncaps the bottle and drips it onto his fingers, gets a hand at Shiro’s thigh again to push him wider.

 

“Actually, just lay back a little,” Keith tells him.

 

Shiro does as he’s told. Easily. He drops back on his elbows, high enough to keep an eye on everything. To see those velvet ears bob as Keith ducks to mouth messy at the shaft of his cock.

 

Two fingers slide down to press at his hole, a slick thumb strokes over his perineum, too. There’s nothing performative about the way Keith moves. And Shiro is half-hazy in love with him over the faint scent of passion fruit, with the rub and suck of Keith’s fingers and mouth.

 

Keith pulls off to sink teeth into Shiro’s thigh. Just on the side of too sharp as he pushes a finger past the tight furl of Shiro’s hole. It’s been a little too long, and the stretch is a thick breath and a low moan.

 

It’s plenty wet with lube, but Keith darts between the spread of his thighs to drag his tongue over the meeting of his finger and Shiro’s rim, up to take one of Shiro’s balls in his mouth. It’s a soft wet suck, and Shiro’s abs contract at the feeling, at the twist and pull and push of Keith’s finger inside him.

 

“Fuck,” he hums, realises that Keith’s other hand is working out of sight. A low moan vibrates between his thighs as Keith works another finger in, knuckles pressing into his ass. It’s a little smoother now, starting to feel _good_ as Keith tongues at his shaft and works him loose.

 

“You feel really good,” Keith tells him, quiet.

 

It tugs something low in Shiro’s belly, and he lifts higher up on his elbows to see. His cock rests spit-slick and full against Keith’s cheek. Keith is flushed a little pink across the bridge of his nose, his mouth messy.

 

“Wait,” Keith tells him, glancing up briefly.

 

There’s something so utterly unassuming about him, that Shiro wants to follow every order that could come out of his mouth.

 

Keith furrows his brow in concentration, tilts his wrist.

 

“Oh,” Shiro tells him, “ _oh_.” And has the pleasure of watching Keith’s expression bloom into a self-satisfied smile.

 

“Did I get you?” Keith asks, eyes light.

 

“Mhm,” Shiro nods, sucking at his lip. “Right on the nose.”

 

Keeping his thumb pressed to the soft of Shiro’s groin, two fingers still stuffed up inside him, Keith lifts up and gets his knees against the bed. A free hand is braced against the mattress, and Keith crowds him in all alcohol-sweet breath and wild hair and those velvet ears.

 

He slicks his fingers in and out with a wet sound, knocks right up against Shiro’s prostate again, draws a thick moan out.

 

“Shit. Hey, take your shirt off,” Shiro begs quietly, well on his way to wrecked. It’s magnetic north to north, the chase and tease of Keith’s lips, Keith’s breath on his skin, never quite giving him what he wants.

 

The fingers come out so that Keith can discard his shirt, and then Shiro hooks him in with an arm around bare shoulders, and kisses the breath out of him.

 

“You should fuck me with those kitten ears on,” he tells Keith, punch drunk on the soft slick of Keith’s mouth against his. He tastes faintly of passion fruit and almost-poor decisions.

 

“The- oh,” Keith says, faltering for a moment like he’d forgotten. “You like-? Oh.”

 

He looks down at Shiro with a strange kind of focus for the bare part of a second. Then he dips forward and kisses him again.

 

“Okay,” he says.

 

The button on those tight black jeans is already popped open when Shiro trails his fingers down Keith’s stomach and reaches for it. He gets his hand under the band of Keith’s underwear and finally gets to feel Keith’s cock. It’s good in his hand, hot and full.

 

“Yeah,” Shiro whispers, right up against Keith’s mouth. Gives a tease of a lick at the parted bow of his top lip.

 

Keith’s knee nudges Shiro’s wider, gets him spread on the sheets, works a third slick finger inside him.  

 

Shiro lets his head loll back a moment at the feeling, makes noise low in his throat when Keith chases him with soft lips under the line of his jaw, a tongue at his pulse point.

 

“Come on,” Shiro murmurs, working Keith over with humid, jerky strokes, wrist trapped under his waistband. “I want this inside me.”

 

Keith lets out a heavy little huff that edges on a whine, face still tucked against Shiro’s neck. He shifts back to tug everything down, stepping out of it until he’s bare and beautiful under Shiro’s hands. Defined muscles on a slight figure. Long, long legs and knobbly knees and a wiry happy trail for Shiro to scratch his fingers through.

 

“Fuck,” Shiro says, almost to himself, “how’d I get you, huh?”

 

“What?” Keith says, like the conversation is loose wired, a disconnect. But Shiro pulls him down, flips them until Keith has his back on the mattress, knees bent over the edge, and then throws a thigh over that slim waist, sits happily on Keith’s lap.

 

He's got enough alcohol in his system that there's the tiniest split second of vertigo, but Shiro ignores it, because Keith is a wide-eyed dark-haired wonder underneath him, as Shiro bends for a kiss.

 

“Like this?” Shiro asks him, and Keith nods, steals another kiss.

 

Hopelessly charmed, Shiro gets on his elbows and kisses him properly, kisses him deep. A shift of their hips and he ruts their cocks together, luxuriating in Keith’s quick, jerky inhale at the feeling.

 

The string of condoms peeks up from between the rumpled sheets, and Shiro reaches for it, snags it with two fingers and rips the first one off.

 

“You wanted to top, right?” Shiro half-teases, somehow easier now that Keith is underneath him, “I never asked.”

 

“No, this is great,” Keith tells him, hands coming to rest at Shiro’s hips, thumbing at the skin there.

 

“Yeah, great,” Shiro echoes with a smile.

 

He rips the wrapper open, drips a little bit of lube in the tip, smooths it down Keith’s length with a lube-wet hand.

 

Keith’s gaze rests on him as he lifts up, guides the head right up to his hole and teases it there. A plush bottom lip catches on sharp white teeth, and Shiro takes it as a cue to sink down slowly with little rocks of his hips.

 

He hums a groan Keith fills him up, not as practiced at this as he used to be.

 

“Should I do something?” Keith asks, and Shiro huffs out a laugh, shaking his head.

 

“Just… lie there and, uh,  look handsome for me,” he breathes, eyes shut tight against the stretch. Keith laughs, throaty and rough, fingers tighten at Shiro's hips a little in response, holding steading in tiny, possessive increments.

 

Shiro settles about halfway, lifts back up again and drops down, working himself open. Keith moans at the feeling. When Shiro opens his eyes he finds Keith’s gaze roving over his body, dark eyed and almost overwhelmed.

 

“C’mon, kitten,” Shiro breathes, mouth tilting in a smile, eyes heavy-lidded as he fucks himself down a little further.

 

“ _Shiro,_ ” Keith rasps as he’s swallowed almost to the hilt. His voice cracks beautifully, his brow furrowed as he tosses his head back.

 

It’s the first time he’s said Shiro’s name, and the exact pitch and tone of it is devastating. Shiro wants playing on loop.

 

“Shit,” he sighs, bending slightly to tuck his hand under the curve of Keith’s neck, slides up to thumb just behind his ear, over the press of the headband.

 

He leans down until they’re sharing breaths, Keith still buried deep inside him. He cradles Keith’s head, kisses his mouth.

 

“Feel good, kitten?” he whispers, tries it on for size and watches Keith’s expression twist and _break_ over the two syllables.

 

“Yeah.” Keith tells him. “Come on, please.” His hands squeeze at Shiro’s hips, a little greedy, a little sweet.

 

Shiro rides him slowly at first, bouncing on the thick of him and watches that pretty flush spread to pink up his cheeks. There’s the occasional slick sound of lube, needy press of kisses.

 

 It's good like that, with the way he can feel the moans vibrate through Keith's chest. With the flit of expressions across Keith's face when he feels good, the tilt and pout when he wants to coax a kiss. 

 

"Fuck," Keith whispers, and just like that, Shiro wants to keep him. 

 

They rock together like that, until something starts to build, until Keith makes tiny noises against his mouth with every sink to the hilt. 

 

Then Shiro sits up, smooths his hands over Keith’s chest, thumbs at his nipples to make him whine. It’s smooth rolls of his hips, as smooth as he can make them. Enough to have Keith gasping underneath him, mewling and grabbing at his hips, his thighs.

 

"Yeah," Shiro breathes, "yeah." 

 

He reaches for the bob and slap of his own cock, gets his fingers filthy with precome as he strokes. It brings him too close a little too fast, if only because he wants to luxuriate in the feeling of having Keith underneath him, toes curling as he bounces a little needy on Keith’s cock. It’s been so _long_ and this man is everything he’s needed.

 

“Hey,” Shiro says, breathless with the way Keith’s eyes are screwed shut below him, with the helpless wrinkle of his nose like he’s biting something back. “You close?”

 

A nod, and Shiro almost laughs, but a pleasured little shiver runs down his spine like he’s not too far off, either.

 

Instead, he draws himself up, squeezes in little pulses around the head of the cock inside him, sinks down with a wriggle of his hips. Keith arches and cries out underneath him, clinging to the twisted bed sheets, stomach filling with air and then tensing all in a rush.

 

“Oh _fuck_ ,” he swears. His hair sticks damp to his forehead and he gazes up at Shiro through inky stray strands. “That was dirty,”

 

“I want to see you come,” Shiro tells him, runs his hand up Keith’s body, curls loose fingers in his hair and thumbs the velvet edge of the kitten ears.

 

He sinks low, seats himself fully with a groan and shifts his hips, rides it like he can get it deeper.

 

“Fuck,” Shiro swears, and watches Keith’s abs tense underneath the spread of his hand.

 

Keith moans, rubs his hands up and down Shiro’s sides, croons and squeezes his eyes shut against the sensation.

 

“Shiro,” he begs, “ _Shiro_.”

 

“Fuck,” Shiro swears again, bounces with the slap of skin and rising hitch of his breaths. “Come on, kitten. Come on, baby.”

 

“ _Oh_ ,” Keith cries out, and Shiro grabs a frantic hand, laces their fingers together. Keith squeezes at his knuckles, fucks up as best he can to meet the rock of Shiro’s hips.

 

“M’gonna-” Keith promises him, and then his head tosses back, tendons in his neck standing out. He comes with a rough, achy moan, and Shiro watches him with hungry eyes.

 

“Yeah,” Shiro tells him, breathless, “yeah.”

 

He wishes it was painting him up. He’s close enough to the edge to admit these kinds of things to himself, and for a split second, he wants Keith to _own_ him.

 

But a split second is a cliff’s edge, and when Keith’s hand wraps around his cock and tugs him off all determination and barely any finesse, Shiro comes with a growl all over that tangle of a happy trail.

 

“Shit,” Keith croons to himself quietly, watching the twitch and spill of Shiro’s come between them.

 

Shiro rides the aftershocks, humming in pleasure at Keith still hard inside him for a bit, until Keith let's out a breathy little grunt and puts a steadying hand on his hip. 

 

Shiro all but collapses down onto him, nosing lazy at Keith's cheek. There are little sparks of pleasure when Keith drags fingertips over his hips. He closes his eyes for a moment, still panting, and meets Keith halfway for a kiss.

 

It’s tender. Keith’s nose tucks against his cheek, there’s a soft sigh against his skin. Shiro briefly flickers his lashes open between kisses to see the vulnerability in Keith’s expression, the furrowed tilt of his brow.

 

“Wow,” Shiro whispers, too honest for a clumsy, tipsy hookup. A smile catches at his lips and Keith flutters his lashes open, curls a slow grin in response.

 

“Wow,” Keith mouths back, and Shiro can’t tell if it’s a tease or a genuine response, but Keith kisses him before he can make sure. Lazy and slow, tracing light fingertips over Shiro's skin. Sucks on his tongue in a dirty little move that drags a moan all the way from the bottom of Shiro's spine.

 

Keith kisses him until his lips are tingling and it’s all he can think about.

 

Eventually, they have to unstick. Eventually, Shiro just wants to collapse into bed and take Keith with him, so they can tangle up and smoke and sleep, if that's something that Keith wants.

 

Keith wraps fingers around the edge of the condom as Shiro eases himself up and off, feeling the slight empty ache as he sprawls back on the bed. He watches Keith move around his room, watches him tie off the condom and dump it in the trash.

 

Then Keith doesn't come back to bed, like Shiro wanted. Keith stands there, semi-comfortable. Eventually his hands find themselves in his hair.

 

“You sure like those ears, huh?” he says, laughs. He reaches up to take them off, untangles them from the mess of his hair.

 

Shiro sits up a little as Keith approaches again, hands braced back on the bed, lazy. He lets Keith fit the ears on his head.

 

Before Shiro can catch a hand at his hip and draw him close, Keith steps back, pretends to assess the full picture. Still a little tipsy, a little orgasm dopey - Shiro preens under the attention. Enough that Keith laughs, rubs his arm.

 

“Yeah, I guess I see the appeal,” he says.

 

Shiro lifts an eyebrow.

 

“Meow.”

 

It’s a twist of a smile and then a full-bellied laugh, raspy and light.

 

They stand there smiling at each other for a moment, and then Keith’s stance shift. He comes back in pieces.

 

“Anyway,” he says still smiling, but it’s a little faded. He’s already looking around. “I should get going.”

 

Oh. 

 

The party is still going on down stairs. They’ve moved onto the usual playlist now, people too trashed to care about a theme.

 

“Oh,” Shiro says out loud, and something incredibly uncomfortable has lodged itself in his chest.  “Okay. Uh, early start tomorrow?”

 

Keith is tugging on his boxers, hair a ruffled mess. There’s still come drying on his stomach. Shiro could draw him close and lick it up and start another round. 

 

Or not. 

 

“Ah, not really,” Keith says.

 

Shiro expects an explanation, with an ache in his thighs and his lips still tingling from Keith's kiss. An excuse, at the very least.

 

But Keith is yanking on his jeans, balance still a little wobbly from his orgasm. Shiro thinks he can feel tomorrow morning’s headache coming on already.

 

“Can I get your number, at least?” Shiro asks.

 

That stalls him. Mid-second pant leg, Keith stares at him.

 

“Why?” Keith asks him.

 

Shiro swallows, wishes for a searing second that he hadn’t opened his mouth. If anything, now, he wants Keith to leave so he can spark a pity blunt and laze around in what’s left of the shitty afterglow.

 

“Well I was going to ask for a date,” Shiro says, barely bites back the husk of a laugh. “But it’s okay. I’m- I’m picking up what you’re putting down.”

 

Keith’s face does something strange. He stands up, still half-dressed. There’s something defiant to the tilt of his chin.

 

“What’s my name?” he asks.

 

“What?” Shiro says, the tone throwing him entirely off. 

 

Keith shifts, crosses his arms.

 

“What’s my name?”

 

Shiro blinks at him, brow furrowed in confusion. It hurts, he thinks, to have Keith look at him like that. 

 

“Keith,” he says.

 

A slight flurry of shock crosses Keith’s expression.

 

“What,” Shiro says, huffs a disbelieving laugh, “you thought I didn’t know your name?”

 

There’s a tick in Keith’s jaw and Shiro berates himself mentally for wanting to kiss it.

 

“You didn’t say it,” Keith points out. He huffs. “Kitten this, kitten that, I-”

 

“Sorry,” Shiro stumbles, over a white hot flare of shame. “I just thought… it was hot.” He feels stupid now, with the kitten ears on his head and whatever’s left of some really stellar drunk sex in the dead air between them. “I thought we were both into it.”

 

Keith stares at him for a moment, something a little lost in his expression.

 

“It was,” he blurts. “We were- I just. I wasn’t sure if you were just into the-”

 

He gestures at his hair, and Shiro wants to sink into the ground a little.

 

“No, no!” he rushes to reassure. “I promise, I think you’re amazing… I really- you’re kind of a knockout.”

 

The flush is picking back up on Keith’s cheeks. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, unsure of what to say.

 

“Oh,” he settles on. “Uh. Thanks.”

 

“So, you can stay,” Shiro tries, fingers curling like an anchor in the sheets. “If you want.”

 

Keith looks down at his rumpled jeans, shakes a hand through the mess of his hair.

 

He sighs a little grin, and when he glances up, it’s a little heart stopping.

 

“Yeah,” he says, “okay. Thanks.”

 

“Great,” says Shiro, relief coaxing a smile. 

 

Then, because he thinks he might be allowed to now, he gets up and puts his hands on Keith’s waist. It’s easy to draw him in close to kiss him.

 

And Keith meets him halfway.

 

(One lazy morning and a few more condoms later, Shiro can confirm the appeal of the kitten ears from both sides of the fence.)

**Author's Note:**

> this was entirely self indulgent and a lot of fun to write, so i hope you like it! 
> 
> [tumblr](https://vers-shiro.tumblr.com/) / [twitter](https://twitter.com/versshiro)


End file.
